serenity – maggiemarcum

The Fragility of Grief and Pain and Joy

These past few months have been a little crazy. I’ve had the privilege of walking through some days of loneliness with friends, some days of serious health issues, and some days of dying. I’ve had my own moments of loss of friendship and maybe a sense of a loss of connection to people who have been in my life for a long time. To put it mildly, it pretty much sucks.

I think people of a certain age start looking back at their life, sometimes with regrets, and sometimes just simply acknowledging that they did the best that they could do. Part of my looking back lately is considering the relationships that I’ve been blessed to have, and the sadness I feel that they, for any number of reasons, are no longer part of my life. I find myself wondering what kind of friend I have been and wishing I had been better.

Grief and joy. The sadness that something that was is no longer, balanced against the joy of remembering sweet times together. Someone once told me that everything has a season and that includes friendships. It doesn’t mean losing a relationship doesn’t hurt. Seeing someone go on and you are no longer in the mix can be more painful than the finality of death. We miss the joy the relationship brought to our lives. It is like the season turns from spring to fall and the coldness of winter to the soul.

We live in a disposable world. Trinkets, phones, appliances are readily trashed and replaced with something new and shiny. And so it can be in our lives as we move from one season of relationship to another. I wonder though if we are too quick to throw away our connections without taking stock of the emotional toil it brings. We often don’t realize we are walking in the grief of loss which may hinder our ability to consider a better way. Breaking the connection we have with another human-especially if that person is family or a soul friend- is like walking death. And yet I admit I am just as guilty as the next person to keep walking forward, with the hole in my heart and sadness in my step…moving beyond the hurt and emptiness without repair.

Dying and death and physical suffering are different. I have witnessed physical and emotional pain friends and family experience. I keep seeing a strange mystical undertone of peace and joy that I didn’t expect to find. I find myself searching for words to explain what it’s like to trust that a higher power is holding these things together. I ponder the way joy seeps into the cracks with a hope for something more. Maybe it is a hope for healing. Maybe it is seeing God in the midst of pain in an unexplainable way. Maybe it is walking with someone transitioning from life on earth that opens us to wanting to believe there is more.

All these emotions can happen at once as we ricochet from crying to smiling and back from joy to emptiness. This is the broken world in which we live. Some things we are beyond our ability to change. Somethings we are waiting and praying will change. It isn’t always easy to know the difference. For me, I try to lean into the power I call God and try to listen for direction and peace and the next right thing for me to do. Sometimes I am led to act and sometimes led to wait for others. Sometimes I am called to simply sit with God and trust that The Divine is at work in the hearts and lives of all of us.

Living and Dying with the Addict

Once again the media has exploded with the disturbing story of a sports figure and celebrity who has been overtaken by their addictions. The arrows of blame are flying at everyone whoever came into this person’s life as he too is blamed for being a weak person. And as the arrows of shame fly, so does the misunderstanding of what it is like to watch someone who is slowly killing themselves and the painful decisions that their loved ones must make if they hope to survive and keep on living.

The Lamar Odom saga is one that many of us live outside of the spotlight. We do it in our own circles and often without sharing our drama with those closest to us. These past few days I feel as if my healing scar has been ripped open again as I remember the frustration that I could not save my husband from his demons. Like Odom, he suffered a horrific childhood of abuse and at an early age was introduced to self-medication for his pain by his foster family and doctors. My husband, Dan, would live his life in and out of treatment programs, praying for relief. Unfortunately, he also suffered from bipolar disorder and even when he was clean and sober, he felt he was going crazy. He did things that made absolutely no sense to anyone—including him.

People would say to me all the time—if only he had Jesus he would change. If only he would commit to a program he would be ok. If only you were tougher on him. If only you weren’t so hard on him. If only…

You see friends, those of us living with the addict and mentally ill, we do all those things. We cry ourselves to sleep praying that God will deliver them. We become hopeful when they fall on their knees and accept the Lord into their lives. We celebrate when they agree to enter a long-term treatment program. We watch them count the days of sobriety and we think, “This is it.” We all do all that we can and yet sometimes the demon inside wins the battle here.

And sometimes, we let go and let God take over.

Letting go and watching what happens outside the protective boundaries of our homes can be almost as unbearable as struggling with them inside where no one sees the battle. This is when our faith is tested as we see them rise above only to slip away. AA talks about those who may never fully come clean and how we need to keep them in our prayers. Often those prayers are for deliverance—a deliverance that may only come with death. And that’s when the blame game really kicks into gear, as we see it being played out in social media today.

You see I lived this for many years. My husband lost his battle. I made tough decisions to protect myself and my daughter that few understood. We too had a legal separation that I sat on for several years hoping that I would never have to file the final papers. When Dan was hit by a car and left with severe brain damage, I had to go ahead and finalize our divorce so that he could receive long-term care. That didn’t mean it was over for me though. He was still my husband despite what some legal document declared. We still visited him in the nursing home. I was still his emergency contact. And when he died, I was still the wife that arranged for his funeral and led the family to say goodbye.

There were those in my family and in the recovery community that didn’t understand how I was still in the picture after all those years and after finalizing our divorce. Why hadn’t I walked away and pretended it never happened? Even at his funeral, my brother went around asking people why they were there for such a loser, a liar, a thief, and drug addict that had caused so much pain. You see, that is the gift of grace and mercy that my faith brought me. Many of us loved Dan and could see beyond the actions his drugs and mental illness led him to take. We could see the same man that God saw. We could weep, as I’m sure God did, at Dan’s pain and torment. We could love the man that was made in God’s image and who despite his deepest beliefs in that same God, just fell short. We could see our own imperfection and still love ourselves because we were willing to love Dan as Jesus loved the sick and mentally ill.

So as this story unfolds in the press, let us stop criticizing a woman who made choices to protect herself while still loving her husband. Let us pray for the family and friends who gather around a man they love for who they know he is. Let us pray for the man who hurt so much he could never find peace. And then let us open our eyes and our hearts to our own families and friends who are walking this same walk in everyday life. Let us reach out in understanding and compassion as their hearts are torn apart because their lives are being lived out in front of them, even if they suffer in silence. And let us keep trying to help the helpless and lost, just as Jesus did when he walked the streets.

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time; Enjoying one moment at a time; Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace; Taking, as He did, this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it; Trusting that He will make all things right if I surrender to His Will; That I may be reasonably happy in this life and supremely happy with Him Forever in the next. Amen.